Confessions of a modern-day renaissance woman

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When it comes to cars, perhaps the one thing I’ve paid the least attention to is the roadside assistance package. Mag wheels, spoilers, off-roading capability – these are the things I’m interested in…it’s not that I don’t value emergency preparedness, it’s that I’m fortunate to have a superhero for a dad who has gotten me out of every conceivable vehicular mess I’ve ever been in and who, virtually from the moment I got my driver’s license, handed me NOT my own car but a CAA (or AAA in the US) membership card. I was given a physical representation of “responsible” rather than the teenage dream of a brand new car wrapped with a shiny red bow…would a library card be next?

But as teenagers, what do we really know anyway?

In our teens, our hormones have us wired to be adventure seeking daredevils – well at least they did me – ready to push some boundaries and certainly prepared to aggravate my parents’ collective temper and anxiety. In fact, I recall going out with a friend on an “unauthorized road trip” significantly out of the city where we blew a fuse and had to use a flashlight as a proxy for headlights on a small highway with no streetlights just to get home…

With time and age, that CAA card has come to represent much more than the boring gift of responsibility. I have come to appreciate it as my father’s acceptance that his daughters (yes, my sister got one too) would be released to explore the world.

My parents witnessed my many road trips to visit friends and head off to new opportunities in different cities, and all the while they took comfort that their daughter had that magic card in her wallet – to this day, my dad still pays for my CAA card and after the very first long weekend this summer, boy was I ever glad.

Once again Mr. Niceguy had signed up for an obstacle course this time one developed by US Navy Seals and I swear he’s living out his dreams of being a super “double-0” agent! I admire him tremendously; a former cheeseburger and beer connoisseur, Mr. Niceguy is now in the best shape of his life thanks to an unwavering dedication and discipline to improving his physicality.

Incidentally Mr. Niceguy is also a constant reminder to me that I need to get off my duff and do a leg lift or put aside my third coffee and croissant…

So off we went, kids in tow, to the Bone Frog event in Charlemont, Massachusetts; aka the middle of nowhere about 2.5 hours outside of Boston. This trip would do us some good as we would be giving my poor parents a break from our collective craziness and the 9 year old and 6 year old would have an opportunity to visit with some cousins. Plus, travelling is in my blood and who doesn’t love Boston?

A lazy start to the day had us hit the road about two hours behind schedule but we were in no rush and were enjoying our conversation – all made possible by the liquification of our children’s brains in the backseat thanks to a portable DVD player, the iPad and Nintendo. I’ll go on record and say that I encouraged said liquification, though I did make them stop and look out the window as we passed some cows and horses.

Suddenly Mr. Niceguy said, “I’m losing power.” Of course the first thing I thought was, what have YOU done to my beloved car?!?!?!?! And, ugh! Just get out of the driver’s seat and let me take over! But when he said, “we’re overheating” and I saw the white smoke coming out from under the hood, I realized we were in trouble.

Thank goodness for my superdad, and my CAA card. At that moment, that card meant I didn’t have to panic – even though I did, a little…ok, a lot. While I made the necessary calls to get us on our way, despite my state of disbelief, calm, cool and collected Mr. Niceguy treated the boys to a little adventure in the middle of nowhere. He took out our jackets and made a picnic blanket for the boys to sit on, brought them their crayons and colouring books, and turned our mishap into a memory.

Two hours later we were back on our way in a rental that was clearly loaned out to an owner of a kennel and despite the allergic reactions of Mr. Niceguy and the 6 year old as well as my asthma flare up, we were able to accomplish all of our weekend plans.

It wasn’t all rainbows and unicorns, though. While the boys did get an adventure, I got anxiety – particularly when the 9 year old exclaimed, “Awesome! What car do we buy next?” and every part of my insides were screaming OH MY GOD!!!!! Mr. Niceguy ignored my thoughts of impending doom and said the following, “How lucky are we that this happened on a major highway and in daylight?” and “Thank goodness we didn’t hit a deer” also, “Lucky the car didn’t burst into flames, right?” Hrrrrmmmppphhhh….

I resisted the urge to “pull a Mike Tyson”…and a good thing I did because once the nerves settled I could hear what he was saying, this cool surfer dude, and I allowed myself to get swayed. Each time I would revert back to my panic, he would make a joke like, “at least the tow truck driver wasn’t a serial killer” and I would go through my cycle again: Tyson, no don’t do it, it’s not so bad, I can be cool too, but can I really, panic again, insert Mr. Niceguy…

So there it is. I know I’m not being totally fair to myself when I say that my crazy often needs the balance of both my superdad and my super cool surfer dude. Sure I can be cool to but in the wise words of my mom-in-law, thanks to my wonderfully calm, cool, collected and highly wise men in my life, I can take wings. Happy Father’s Day to all the wonderful dads out there – YOU are the best gifts!

That’s how the game began with Mr. Niceguy this evening. Perhaps it began because I crave female companionship having not seen my friends as of late. Or perhaps I’m interested to see if he will delve at all into vanity – yes, he really is THAT humble (and nice)… ALL the time (well, almost). Perhaps I had a lapse of judgement and just knew that the answer was going to be painful and by hearing it come from him, that it would give me the motivation to make a change…

In case you’re wondering, his answers were pretty tame. Overall, Mr. Niceguy is self-confident and extremely content with what God (or the universe) bestowed upon him. He is the type of person who, if he decides that he needs to make a change or improvement, will delve into a spreadsheet, lay out a staged plan complete with milestones, and just go for it. In other words, Mr. Niceguy is my antithesis. While I procrastinate, ruminate, and debate about my next achievement or goal, Mr. Niceguy has already reached his and is onto the next.

Mr. Niceguy is not a Type A personality by any stretch, while I most certainly am. What he does possess is an unwavering belief that if he wants something, he should just go out and get it. I, on the other hand, believe that the universe, cosmos and the Almighty will simply place it in front of me – all I have to do is reach out and get it. I believe that everything happens for a reason. Mr. Niceguy believes that things happen because we make them happen. We do converge however on the “being at the right place at the right time” theory.

So when it came to my turn to respond I couldn’t even make it past number two. For starters, I said that I wish I had smaller feet. My feet are not big – they’re average. But they did grow (ever so slightly) with my two pregnancies; a closet full of gorgeous, vintage sandals cry out in agony over simply being for display. Mr. Niceguy just shrugged and said, “okay”. This is the kind of response that I expected playing a game designed for my best girlfriends with Mr. Niceguy. Had it been any one of my BFFs, they would immediately have understood the implications of slightly (just a half size!) larger feet. They would understand that cute running shoes just didn’t look the same – or cute – paired with skinny jeans; that they in fact looked clown-like. They would laugh and empathize and join in with regales of their own battle scars.

My second response was that I wished for my gloriously flat stomach from my twenty-fifth birthday. Mr. Niceguy perked up, turned towards me with a Mona Lisa-like grin and gave me a wistful look (the kind of look those actors in the soda pop commercials of the 80’s and 90’s would get when they’d crack open a bottle of an icy cold 7Up, smile and wipe the sweat off their brows with the back of their arms). “Aaaaah…”

Aaaah? AAAAAHHH???Aaah what?!

When I asked, “what do you mean by, ‘Aaaah’? I was at my peak at twenty-five, I know. But I haven’t changed much, have I? I mean, I just can’t see it.” And immediately I could tell what he was thinking – THATHECOULD. “You have to tell me what you meant. Honestly. I won’t be upset.” Bologna. To which Mr. Niceguy responded, “Well, we all age. It’s only natural to put on a few pounds as time goes on. ***BLOODY LOGIC*** I remember when I first met you, you had the figure of a movie star. My mom even said so.”

And there it was. A reminder to NEVER play this kind of “What If?” games with your boyfriends, husbands or dare I say, any man.

I’m not sure what to think…I’m sitting here right now trying to process this whole thing and you know what? I’m thinking that I truly don’t believe that I’ve changed all that much. That somehow I’m still that same twenty five year old trying to figure things out. That same adventurous and spirited girl always ready for a night out with her friends or who likes to dress up and dress down and at the ready for any challenge. True, there are more days now when I think about one enhancement procedure or another, or worry about becoming incapacitated or terminally ill – whatever would happen to les deux?? (Now 9 and 5!) But overall, still pretty much the same… Oh! Who am I kidding??!! Mr. Niceguy struck a nerve!

Perhaps the worst part was that I didn’t have him agreeing that, ya, he wished for his twenty-five year old washboard abs too – quite frankly, thanks to his German-like efficiency towards goal achievement, he is in the best shape of his life (the 5 year old even calls him “The Hulk”). And it’s true, he looks good… I was alone in this game, faced with the truth of my reality. Soooo what if I knocked back a few more cocktails this summer than I anticipated and indulged in a few more celebratory dinners complete with appetizers and dessert – I blame one individual in particular for whom we had no less than FOUR going away parties – my waistline thanks me for having missed the fifth and final one!

I’ve procrastinated, ruminated and debated whether I’ve needed to make a change for weeks. Now Mr. Niceguy has pushed me into admitting to myself that yes, my skinny jeans are waaaaay too tight and this spare tire (or muffin top) is not as cute as the little “Buddha belly” I had in my twenties thanks to an unswerving devotion to cheese, bread and pasta.

So here it is…it’s been recorded now. Thanks to Mr. Niceguy and his (near brutal) honesty, as of this very moment I promise to start to really think about how I’m going to go about getting a forty-something version of my twenty-something-physical-self back! No girl ever wants to hear that she looked better before than at this very moment. But as perplexing and disheartening as it was to hear, it reminded me that self-improvement is important – it demonstrates that the spirit continues to thrive! And yes, I am extremely vain and no, I don’t care who knows it. Nonetheless here’s where my forty-something self has an edge over my twenty-something self: admittedly my abs won’t look quite the exact same – I know I’ll have to be okay with that – but at least I’ll strive for a better version of myself. After all some battle scars will forever be worth it…

While I know I promised to write more regularly, an incredible opportunity to speak at the Armenian Relief Society’s annual International Women’s Day luncheon, occupied every spare moment for the past two and a half months. From being buried in post-it notes full of ideas jotted down during all hours of the day…and wee hours in the night, to continuous editing and practicing in my car, in the bathroom, while cooking, and in front of any random and willing audience, I finally got it down. This speech was delivered on Sunday, March 1st, 2015. It is certainly geared towards a female audience, regardless, I hope all you readers enjoy it just as much as I enjoyed delivering it…

Good morning. I’d like to start by thanking the ARS (Armenian Relief Society) Rubina Chapter and today’s organizing committee for inviting me to speak at today’s luncheon. It’s really such an honour.

When the committee asked me to speak today, they said I could talk about anything and I thought…oh, my goodness! Where do I even start? You know, a year ago I decided to take a break from my career and spend some more time with my family while I figured out what to do with the rest of my life. Never in a million years would I have thought I’d be standing here in front of you. But, with this opportunity at hand, I thought I’d talk about the challenges that thirty and forty-something women face in today’s world.

While it is a HUGE topic, I’ve distilled my very candid observations down to 5 major challenges that I believe young-ish Armenian-Canadian moms and women face these days: moms and motherhood (gotta talk about our moms), men (another must topic), the elusive work-life balance, one’s identity and what’s really important…you’ll find out. I wonder if some of my observations will hold true for you. Agree or disagree, let’s start relating!

Moms and Motherhood

Challenge #1. Our first glimpse of motherhood, comes from our own mothers. Moms, you inspire us, you teach us, you support us – in your own controlling – I mean loving way. My own mother is very smart, beautiful, talented, and very, very understanding…so understanding is she, that she’s not going to get mad or upset or offended by anything I’m about to say…right mom?

As a general observation, Armenians are very passionate people: we’re passionate about food, passionate about our causes and above all, we’re passionate about our families.

So in a culture where family comes first, it follows that our parents’ happiness means everything to us – their approval is nearly always essential and consequently, one can be quite vulnerable to any critique. If moms believe that they’re acting in our best interest, they don’t hold back. They’ll tell you what you should or should not be doing, saying, wearing, eating and even thinking!

I mean, I’m forty, and my mom is still telling me what to do! Not that being 40 really means anything because while I feel a lot more confident and self-assured, in some instances I’m still trying to be one of the cool kids. I feel like I’m in a kind of limbo: not old enough to be wise, and not young enough not to care. Not old enough for a cosmetic procedure, not young enough to not consider the prospect of a cosmetic procedure…am I too old to wear uggs?!

But I digress… Everytime I write a column for TorontoHye Newspaper, my mom and I have the following conversation,

[TRANSLATION: “Talyn, what have you written for the paper? What are people going to think? Last month’s column was much better. Could you have been tired, perhaps? Are you eating well? Shall I cook you a nice meal? I don’t understand you…this generation is completely different. Life is too fast – things were not like this when we were growing up. Oh, my dearest daughter, these are your most trying years.”]

Huh? How many of you have had this kind of conversation? How did we go from, I didn’t quite get this month’s column to these are your toughest years?!

When you’re young, it’s hard to understand why mothers do the things that they do. I gave my mom such a hard time because I thought MY life was difficult. Like the time I ran away from home for a few hours to my Armenian best friend’s house and promptly called my mother to let her know I was ok. My mom told me that she understood I just needed the space and most of all, that she loved me. I know now that she was probably falling apart inside. I also know this because every now and then she reminds me… Regardless, she stood by me. And I know she’ll always stand by me no matter what. So every time we have that conversation about my articles, she makes me strive more, reach more, and try harder. And I just hope that’s what my two boys remember when I’m mothering them!

Mothering Two Boys

Speaking of my two glorious, young and active boys. At this stage in their lives, we are their everything. But the time where parents are everything to their children is fleeting. So…with that in mind, I’m prepared to make sacrifices.

For example, I’m constantly having to go on “boy” adventures – I can see all you moms and aunties of boys nodding your heads – you know exactly what I mean. My kind of adventures are more like a night out on the town with my girlfriends or an exotic trip. Boy adventures, are like:

Clothing optional sumo wrestling

Or roughing it in the dreaded “North” full of mosquitoes with no restaurants, shops, and worst of all, without female companionship!!!!

It’s not easy being a parent. Kids don’t come with an instruction manual. They make you second guess your every move. I’ve resorted to begging, pleading, bribery, and even manipulation – some days, I hardly recognize myself. Unlike any other job, the job of raising our children is 24/7, forever, the stakes are infinitely higher and the pressure for perfection is omnipresent. For while we won’t be their everything for long, they will be our everything for all time.

So moms, grandmoms, and tantigs, we get it. Thank you for all that you’ve done and continue to do. Thank goodness, though, we don’t have to do it alone…which brings me to my Mr. Niceguy – better known as my husband and challenge #2.

Men

Men are an interesting breed: so even keeled and wonderfully objective – so long as they’re not tired, hungry or sick of course. Men (and boys) have such different priorities –underwear left in the middle of the floor or dirty socks left on kitchen counters is surely not the end of their world. For them, the end of the world looks more like a favourite soccer team losing a match – the sorrow of which is quickly forgotten with a deep fried or sugary snack of some sort.

When you’re getting married, the focus tends to be on the wedding, how you’re going to sign your name and officially moving out of your parents’ basement. Over time, real life will test you, will make you want to move back to the safe cocoon of your parents’ basement, but hopefully it will also transform your marriage into a real balanced partnership.

For example, I’m a bit of a dreamer and an optimist – Mr. Niceguy is logical and rational. Oftentimes, he refers to me as “passionate” – not that kind of passionate – his way of saying I’m a quick-tempered, headstrong Armenian woman. I’ve become even more passionate as a mother, particularly while trying to discipline our children who are not listening to a word that I’m screaming and when he materializes from thin air and begins to lecture me on the latest scientific research on parenting. Ya, I’m passionate all right.

In any case, accepting our differences has made us stronger. Just because I think that the Bachelor should stay friends with the bachelorettes he doesn’t give a rose to, and he thinks that that’s totally absurd, doesn’t mean we can’t get along. Men are certainly from Mars and Women are from Venus but we’re all living here together on Earth so I call a truce.

The Elusive Balance

Another balancing act we’re faced with today is work-life balance… the “Elusive Balance” – Challenge #3. Here’s what I’m going to say about this – and if I may be presumptuous, mainly for the benefit of those, like me, who are still seeking their balance: balance is what you make of it. There is no one formula. And while that may sound bewildering, it means that you can have a hand in its design – if you’re brave enough.

Striving for a career only to find that it interferes with your personal life is devastating…at least it was for me. That’s why I took matters into my own hands and am carving my own path – a path that likely would not work for someone else. Finding balance also requires help. On the career side, you absolutely need the right environment. You also need buy-in, you need to build your brand and your value to the point where you are supported to have more flexibility because losing you or replacing you would not be an option. On the family side, you also need support, and you need to dial back expectations…in my case, those perfectionistic tendencies. There will always be feelings of guilt – I wish I was more dedicated to my job, I wish I was more dedicated to my family. I wish I had the time to have a haircut, manicure and a latte in peace instead of freezing my butt off at an arena or constantly responding to the buzz of my Blackberry!

Finding balance and maintaining balance is tough. What’s great, however, is seeing so many women taking charge and courageously creating the kind of life that they want, rather than what someone else imposes on them. Bravo.

Identity

Challenge #4. Identity. What is your identity? How do you define it? Identity is influenced by a number of different things like your age, gender, language, history, religion, employment and so on. Identity is not static and is shaped and developed by you over time. And I believe, that at some point, we all stop and ask ourselves, “Who Am I?” I tend to ask myself this question when I’m up at two in the morning wondering if I’m ever gonna get my act together – and if my lack of sleep has anything to do with perimenopause or something – totally FREAKS me out…I think I’m having a hot flash right now!

Most women face a real identity crisis at some point. And as an Armenian woman, this identity crisis gains a further complexity. While we struggle with building a successful career and balance that with a full and complete personal life, many of us also struggle with the DNA-programmed need to preserve our culture and our heritage. I know in my case I was raised with a healthy dose of “Hayeren Khoseer” and “Azad, angakh Hayasdan”.

I call this my three-legged identity tripod: career, family and being Armenian. These are the things that define my identity – if any one of these three legs does not match the length of the others, I topple down.

When it comes to my identity, I also realize that I don’t have to be perfect. And that it’s really important to take risks. Risks make you feel alive. They make you feel like you’ve achieved. Standing here is a HUGE risk for me. Risks force you to expand your world and look beyond what you think you already know.

As I said before, being Armenian is a big part of who I am. I am married to a non-Armenian (“odar”) who challenges me, supports my ambitions and respects me and my heritage. My children speak Armenian. They are learning about our culture and heritage and which is one way that I am preserving a very important part of who I am and passing on that ingrained Armenian DNA. I also volunteer at the ARS Armenian Private School (if you haven’t yet donated to Telethon 2015, please do so) and the Zoryan Institute – a centre dedicated to the education, research, preservation and documentation of genocide and human rights violations, particularly the Armenian Genocide. Working there feeds my soul.

But being Armenian and staying Armenian has not been easy. Perhaps it’s like blasphemy to say that on some days I wished I was French or Italian – so much easier to relate and to have people understand who you are and what you’re all about without the burden of struggling to survive. But as I’ve gotten older, and hopefully gained more wisdom, I’ve come to believe that the hardest things are the ones worth fighting for…marriage, your children, your friends, your family…and yes, your identity. These are important things worth fighting for.

What’s Really Important

And that brings me to the final challenge. Challenge #5, discovering what’s really important. Some recent news about a friend’s situation really put this in perspective for me.

We all get bogged down with our own problems from time to time, and lose sight of the big picture – that we only have this one life to live and that we must make the most of it. Don’t we all wish that we were prettier, thinner, smarter, more successful, more laid back, younger and so on. The challenge for us is to grab hold of the magic in this life, and that magic, in my view, comes from sharing, from connecting and relating to the people around you, from being present.

It is a rare privilege to get a glimpse or to be present when people experience moments that will shape them forever, whether they’re experiencing moments of real learning, of overcoming, or even of regret. The moment that you can share your joys and regrets, they become real and allow you to relate to people in ways unimaginable. And the relating, well that is your legacy.

The connections that you make are what carry you – are what will sustain you. These bonds – whether created because you had a little too much to drink and your friend held back your hair while you were sick, or you created because a friend watched your newborn, colicy baby while you finally took a shower and got some rest – these bonds are what I’m all about. And look, you’re not going to bond with everybody, but when you do, stop and remember the magic. I do it by writing it down – and you relate to me when you read my stories.

Thank you.

(Blowing off some steam post speech…biggest fear is to speak in front of an audience with something in my teeth!)

Ahhhh…Valentine’s Day. I love it. With Christmas and New Year’s long gone now, retailers have already done the flip and I don’t care that it’s contrived, artificial or just collusion between the card companies, chocolate companies and florists.

Valentine’s Day is a forced moment to stop and think about the one you love and to make that one person feel special…if only I could control the HOW when that person is me!

I can’t think of how many times I’ve instigated an argument with Mr. Niceguy over my (perhaps ever-so-slightly) unrealistic expectations around Valentine’s Day – and I have to say, these “discussions” are always initiated at the END of the day (when he no longer stands a chance and when I’ve finally admitted to myself that I’m not getting the moon and stars for Valentine’s this year). For example:

Me: Hmmm…so anything special happen at work today?

Mr. Niceguy: Nope, just a typical day.

Me: Wasn’t it extra pretty? Like lots of pink and red hearts in all the stores down there? I love the Valentine’s day decorations…

Mr. Niceguy: Ya.

Me: Remember back when we didn’t have any kids? Oooh, and before we were married…how you used to send me flowers and buy me my favourite candy for Valentine’s Day? *wistful* How you’d plan the whole day like the time you took me skating at City Hall and then we went to my favourite restaurant for dinner?

Mr. Niceguy: Didn’t you plan that day…and wasn’t that the time you got really sick and called the restaurant the next day because you thought they served us tainted beef when it was actually the fact that you ordered the pan-fried butter steak, the buttery mushrooms, the cheesy baked potatoes and then the extra helping of creamy mashed potatoes?

Me: *HHHRRRMMMPPHH* Nooooooo…not that time (thanks for bringing that up!) The time you took me to the romantic French restaurant with the bread baskets that hang from the pulleys, the gorgeous fireplace, the wonderful wine…

Mr. Niceguy: Oh. Ya. Ummm…

Me: *Losing patience* Why can’t you plan a Valentine’s Day for me anymore? Can you please plan one next year? Please?

Mr. Niceguy: Huh? What? I was just checking Arsenal’s standings in the soccer league…

Ya. So that’s the way it usually goes. But not this year. This year I’m taking matters into my own hands. I’m a smart, capable, educated woman who can totally be logical when she wants. In fact, I resent that last statement. I am ALWAYS logical. So if I want something, I’m gonna make it happen. I am going to sweep Mr. Niceguy right off his feet!

But wait…I’m the girl. And isn’t Valentine’s Day all about showing the girl how much you love her? Isn’t it about courting, wooing and making your lady feel special? I don’t want to take that away from Mr. Niceguy. Instead, I will trust that this yearhe will know exactly what to do.

Besides, I was testing the waters tonight and he kind of passed. See, Mr. Niceguy’s absolute favourite meal in the whole wide world is roasted chicken and potatoes – it’s a comfort food that his mom used to make for him. Imagine the smells of a roasting chicken filling the home…I wonder, could it be the key to Mr. Niceguy’s heart? So to test this hypothesis, I made him his favourite dinner, except…

When I went to lift the roasting pan out of the oven, I think I may have tweaked my finger – it might have been heavy for just one hand but I carried it to the table all the same. After our meal, while I was doing the washing, I noticed a large purple bruise on the inside of my finger and recalled…my GP asked me recently if I bled or bruised easily…HOLD ON. Am I a closet hemophiliac?! I asked Mr. Niceguy…

Me: *Panic and concern with a dash of cute* Look at my finger!

Mr. Niceguy: *Sweetly* Oh! What’d you do?

Me: *Coy and bashful batting my eyelashes* I don’t know…I think I hurt it while lifting the casserole…do you think I’m a borderline hemophiliac? I mean, I bruise so easily and when I cut myself it takes a while to stop bleeding…

Mr. Niceguy: *Smiling as one would to a toddler* Oh no. I think if you were a hemophiliac, even a borderline hemophiliac, we would have known by now. I mean, true, you are special and lots of odd things have happened to you, but I wouldn’t worry.

See?! So sweet…so attentive. Hypothesis validated. I will prepare a roasted chicken right before Valentine’s Day, drop a hint or two and see where things take us…who knows, maybe this year I’ll get the sun and the moon and the stars and the flowers and the candy and the really hard to get reservations and the trendiest restaurant and a new bauble and…and…and…

Dedicated to my two moms – my own, who is responsible for all of my good and my bad, and my mom 2, who gave me one of her most prized possessions…Mr. Niceguy. Now if only she could’ve left me with the instruction manual…

Another long weekend is upon me and the pressure is on to have fun and go on adventures – for this is what it means to be in a household full of boys. No time for just relaxing, no desire to sit and simply read a book while sipping on a fancy coffee and listening to the birds chirp, and certainly no yearning for the trendy shops and restaurants in Yorkville…

When I was toiling away downtown at my “high-falutin” finance career, I used to live for long weekends…an extra day off work, extra time with the kids and who knows, maybe even a sleep in. But now all of that has changed. Life as a stay-at-home-and-work mom is different and most of the time, long weekends actually mean an extra work shift at “the plant” that you weren’t expecting!

When I think back even further, back to the days before the 7 year old and 4 year old were even on the scene, things were even more different still – I’m reminded of just HOW different particularly when I compare my life to the lives of singletons or people who don’t have children. Sometimes, I hear them rave about recent escapades, spur of the moment getaways to exotic places and I sigh…

If there was a contest to see whose life had changed more and the only 2 contestants were me and Mr Niceguy, I think I would win. And in his highly logical and rational way, he would concede defeat by stating that I would win only because of the limitations I impose upon myself…

Recently, the 7 year kid brought home an assignment and at the end of it, he had to choose five words to describe his mom (me!). Among those chosen were funny (true…I have a good sense of humour I think) , pretty (well what mom isn’t pretty to their children), fun (I work very hard at that one), smart (that will surely only last ‘til he hits grade 6 and then I won’t be able to keep up with the homework and the cat will surely be out of the bag!) and lastly, I suppose he ran out of single words here, I quote: “doesn’t like adventure”. I. Was. Floored. Me? Not like adventure? Say what??!! When did that happen?!

I’mthe girl that lied to her parents about going camping and flew to LA for the weekend to (hopefully) catch a glimpse of the boy I had a crush on. I’m the girl who, upon obtaining acceptance to graduate school went across the Greek Isles and Italy with nothing but my two best friends, a back pack and a smile (and as many cute sandals as I could cram…). I’ve been to topless beaches and raves that would last until the break of dawn. I could run just as fast as anyone, climb higher, drive faster, dance harder, and up for virtually any new experience! And against all odds, I married Mr. Niceguy – an extreme adventure, if you ask me, given that the expectation for any nice, Armenian girl is to find another nice Armenian boy, make Armenian babies and add to the Armenian population!

But somewhere along the way my priorities shifted…I traded my passport and stilettos for my “Mom-UV”, weekly soccer matches and “gourmet” Mac and cheese.

What’s worse still is that when, in my horrified state, I told Mr. Niceguy about the assignment, he agreed! Or as he said, he could see where the 7 year old was coming from. But in my defence, this is what my boys classify as adventure:

1. Running around in nothing but their underwear and holding martial arts demonstrations

2. Asking me to take them to the park so that I can be the “pusher” of the swings

3. Watching Mr. Niceguy play with a remote control truck in any random, dusty, abandoned parking lot – who, by the way, is just one big kid and doesn’t do the best job of sharing his toy as it, together with all of its accessories, cost more than my designer bags and non-existent, figment-of-my-imagination designer shoes (oh Manolos…I should’ve bought you when I had the chance!!)

4. Throwing rocks in the smelly lake or dirty river while I ward off rabid dogs and other unidentified wildlife – did I mention that if there’s a mosquito within a 100 mile radius, it will find its way to my body and have a royal feast?

5. Getting in the “truck” and driving to destinations unknown and staying overnight in “family oriented” accommodations that are void of restaurants that require reservations

6. And the dreaded leaving of the city for the “North” where there are no lights, no shops and yes, NO SOCIETY!!

Of course I’m not going to like their definition of adventure! To know me is to know that my kind of adventure requires a passport (and some mascara)! In all fairness, I’m not all THAT high maintenance (or as high maintenance as I’m making myself out to be). Throw me on a beach and I’m in my happy place. Take me to some ruins and hand me a map, and I’m ecstatic. There’s just something about adventuring with boys that brings out, well, a different side of me…

So I guess these days, I don’t really seek out adventure – I’m too exhausted and too overwhelmed by how quickly time is just passing me by… Yet, somehow adventure finds me. It remembers that I crave it. It remembers that I love it. And somehow it knows that in my life with boys, I need it. For without it I’d be miserable: my horizons would not expand, I would not be challenged, and most of all, I would not feel what it’s like to really be alive…

My most recent adventure was sitting on the stands, watching my son be trained during a once in a lifetime soccer training session with the FC Barcelona soccer school coaches. I sat there, during a torrential downpour and watched my 7 year old have the adventure of a lifetime, an adventure I was having vicariously through him….one that I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world.

One day, and certainly sooner than I’ll be ready, I’ll be able to once again hop on a plane at the drop of a hat to one exotic locale or another…though perhaps not a topless beach – at least not without good SPF!!

This week I have thought a great deal about the never ending battle of the sexes…and I’ve concluded, women win.

We survive continuous changes from puberty to our death, and we do it in stride! Women are reminded virtually every 28 days of a “weaker state” yet we overcome. We can bear another human being. We can go through “the change” and still come out the other side while physiologically, the greatest challenge a man has is his daily routine of shaving a beard.

Now I’ve completely distilled it. I’ve used a trump card that can’t be beat. I realize this may be fighting dirty but I know I’m right. For this week I have endured. I have lasted. I have won.

I have been ruminating about the battle of the sexes because I’ve been surrounded by two, very feverish children with undulating colds and a very ill Mr. Niceguy, poor, sweet Mr. Niceguy, who has been in a state of malaise. And at every turn I have been met with one runny nose or another and the fear that every surface is contaminated with germs and so I must guard not to touch, sit, eat, smell or even look at anything! Still, after a very extended weekend in our virus-laden house, I have endured. I refuse to succumb to the illness that has gripped every male person in my household. And I have concluded, it must be because I AM A WOMAN!!

I am told, women have stronger immune systems and we eat better, are neater, better at organizing, etc. Surely that can’t be the only claim to superiority? No. The battle between the sexes has been raging through the ages and here’s how an article in the Mirror begins:

Men joke that women can’t parallel park, women say men have all the emotional intelligence of a plank of wood…

The article actually does go on to cite that Scientists at the University of Pennsylvania found unique differences in brain connectivity between males and females: male brains are structured for perception and coordination (like ducking if a ball was being thrown straight at them) while the female brains are wired for coordination between analysis and intuition (like examining evidence in a high profile crime case and knowing when your client is lying to you).

Essentially, we are two different species when it comes to how our brains work. But like the article asks, who’s best? I’m quite certain it will (unjustly) be a tie…

From the standpoint of intelligence – women win. They have been scoring higher and higher scores on IQ tests and likely that is due to the fact that we, as women, have had to deal with greater complexities in the last century such as juggling family life while building a career. Male brains are also adapting to the faster moving modern world, however not at the same pace as women’s.

Women also win when it comes to medicine – female doctors are said to be more cautious in that they order more vital tests, more likely to prescribe the right drugs and essentially, are less likely to tell a patient to swallow two Tylenols and call back in the morning. I can’t say I’m one to speak on this as I’ve known great male and female doctors…but yay, another point!

We know women are great multitaskers – after all, they have to be. And this may be an unfair challenge, but take it from me, as a woman, sometimes I wish multitasking was not an inherent, ingrained requirement. Having said that, we win. We are superfast at making dinner, doing homework, paying bills, writing up proposals and preparing lunches for the next day…ALL AT ONCE.

What I didn’t know, and was so happy to read about, is that we make great bosses – this is because I am bossy and now I have validation. Truth is, however, that female bosses are fairer and make decisions that are more likely to benefit all stakeholders (also, if you don’t believe me or the Mirror, the International Journal of Business Governance and Ethics found that female-influenced companies are generally more successful than those dominated by men). Hear that? Stand up women and let’s take over the world!

Here’s where we lose: at throwing, driving (WHAT?!), sleeping (no surprise) and at boozing. Hmm…so what if I can’t throw a ball like Blue Jays’ pitcher, R.A. Dickey? And ok, apparently men’s brains are better than women’s at visualizing 3D images which helps when it comes to parallel parking – I would like to add here that I am the QUEEN of parallel parking, even with my oversized Mom-UV! Truth is, in general, I do have to agree with this one. And sleeping – why of course men are better. Remember that multitasking thing? That doesn’t just shut off because it’s 11pm and time for bed… And as for boozing. I had to laugh – I am the cheapest date! Apparently it’s because men are full of more water and so do a better job at metabolizing alcohol. So touché, besides, I’m full of more brains…

So that’s it and just as I predicted – 4 to 4. But is this really an even split? I mean, can we weight these? Surely intelligence must count for more than throwing? Unless of course you had to “throw” a lasso to swing yourself out of a burning building? But dare I ask, how would you know whether a lasso would be the thing to throw if it were not for intelligence? Am I being too petty?

One of my favourite aunties, though I can just barely call her that as she’s really so much more, recently sent me an article published in the New York times (perhaps Spincycle Diaries will one day grace its high brow pages…) about marriage. Fitting, really, given the time of year what with Valentine’s Day, Family Day and spring being in the air…

Marriage, as an institution, was not one that I entered in too lightly…though perhaps, I didn’t think too deeply about it either. I mean, as soon as I’d laid eyes on Mr. Niceguy for the eighth or ninth time, I knew I wanted him to ask me. Let’s digress for a moment…with Mr. Niceguy it was not love at first sight – no lightning or thunderbolt city (I borrow that statement from Tom, a favourite character in the movie, Four Weddings and a Funeral). But apparently, for Mr. Niceguy, the moment he saw me, it was thunderbolt city for him (yay!) He knew he would marry me…and so he very cunningly began his campaign to do just that. So when he finally did get me to notice him, notice him I did. And I knew that I was so intrigued and beguiled that I had to have him ask me to marry him.

But having a boyfriend, getting engaged and then even planning a wedding – these are not the real precursors to a happy marriage. In fact, they are not at all related…though choice, now that certainly goes a long way. I think of the wedding scene in Princess Bride. Had the wedding to Prince Humperdink actually occurred, I think Princess Buttercup surely would have committed suicide eventually.

With nearly half of all marriages ending up in divorce, is marriage an institution that we should aspire to be in?

The only way I can think of to answer this question is as follows: it depends. While marriage is not for everyone, for those who feel they have found the right person, it may very well be. According to the New York Times article, The All-or-Nothing Marriage by Eli J. Finkel, marriages in general have become less satisfying…because of an “all or nothing” proposition. In that, our expectations are just too high and so the institution of marriage is at a disadvantage when it comes to meeting our “needs.” Cited as perhaps one of the bigger reasons for the decline in marital satisfaction is the lack of time spouses spend with one another; spouses, who spend time alone with each other, talking or sharing an activity, are likely to be happier. While the institution of marriage may have initially served a basic need (protection, security, maintaining title, and accumulation of wealth) Finkel states that since around 1965, the self-expressive marriage emerged: marriage as a means of self-discovery, self-esteem and personal growth.

So in keeping the “Self-Expressive Marriage” in mind…here’s what happened a few days ago…

Me: So…ummm….it’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow. Uh…well, where are you taking me for dinner?

Mr. Niceguy: *shrug* Huh? What? I didn’t make any plans.

Me: *incensed* What?Why? Don’t you know me? I love surprises and a chance to partake in such an important, albeit manufactured, holiday…why, how else will you express how much I mean to you? (Self-discovery)

Mr. Niceguy: *annoyed* Are you serious? Do you really think that? The kids have Kung Fu…

Me: SCREW KUNG FU!! I’m not showing up to Kung Fu with you – like ‘oh look at us, we didn’t even bother to make plans for Valentine’s Day’ oh no! I DESERVE one day a year. In fact, I get TWO days: Valentine’s and my birthday.** That’s just two out of 365 days – just 0.5% of the year – even less in a leap year. You know I love it when you make plans to show me that you love me and you do things for me all the time, but this is a special day and, well, I want it. Please? (Self-esteem)

Mr. Niceguy: Okay, okay. I’ll see what I can do… (personal growth)

There you have it. I couldn’t agree more with Finkel. Such insight. But I will add the following: overcoming adversity – kind of like the adversity overcome by Wesley and Buttercup (or like another fun favourite, like Ryan Reynolds and Sandra Bullock’s characters in the movie, The Proposal). Perhaps that’s a part of personal growth…but I think it should be a category of its own. This may be a little mushy…so I’m warning you readers.

When I did enter the institution of marriage, it was on the heels of one of the biggest parties I’d ever attended, much less thrown. But all of that pomp and circumstance, the sheer joy and bliss, would give way quickly as there was a lot going on for both of our families and for each of us – which I won’t get into here – but things that really tested our bond and our commitment to one another. Many times I found myself thinking, can I do this? And over the years, our bond has been challenged, time and again, for many reasons notwithstanding professional baggage or the trials and tribulations that come with having children. In fact all of the kinds of things that cause one to “grow up”…

Yet…it is this adversity that has brought us closer together…me and my Mr. Niceguy. While I wish we didn’t have to go through some of them, I am grateful that we’ve navigated through together. This marriage thing is definitely for me. Happy Valentine’s Day…

**Note…subsequent to the writing of this entry, we discovered that there are, in fact, THREE days a year that I get – the third being the wedding anniversary I share with Mr. Niceguy. *GUSH*

Earlier this evening, Mr. Niceguy was preparing dinner – once again relieving me. And I think mostly because I’ve been subjecting the family to fat free, low cal, protein and veggie rich fare which totally goes against his constitution. That, and I’m officially off pasta (at least, most of the time…ok, as best as I can…all right I limit it to no more than two intakes a week unless there’s leftovers and well, then, it’s just wasteful if you don’t finish things off). And Mr. Niceguy, like most guys I know, LOVES a meaty, hearty, saucy pasta.

We decided that two dinners would be better as I had indulged a little during the afternoon siesta with some salt and vinegar flavoured ‘chackers’ (part chip, part cracker?) so while he prepared his hearty pasta for himself and the boys, I prepared a nearly fat free egg white and veggie omelet in my new, white ceramic non-stick pan. And while dicing the veggies I blurted, “Oh wow. Tomorrow’s this guy’s birthday that I used to have a massive crush on when I was 17! I wonder what he’s up to…”

And I thought to myself – if similar words had come out of Mr. Niceguy’s mouth things would’ve gotten pretty ugly tout suite…and therein lies the inherent double standard.

I find men and women to be very different on this point. And before I offend my kind, I’m just putting it out there as it is…for me…and if many a woman’s willing to admit it….probably for you too. As a woman, there is nothing more off-putting to me than the walk down memory lane about the relationship that never was with the girl that was just too cool or just a snick out of reach. That perfect girl next door, or perhaps that exotic exchange student. The girl who was just so laid back and effortless.

On average, it takes me at least 20 minutes just to get going in the morning. Up, a quick surf on the iPad (I have an addiction which may be the subject of another entry someday), run through outfits in my mind (black top, short skirt? Too tarty for work…grey pants and white shirt? Too dull. Sweater dress with stilettos? Hmmm….just the right blend of daring and demure). Then comes the debate about washing or not washing my hair, full make up or natural look (both take the same amount of time…don’t kid yourselves and when you get to my age…there’s no such thing as truly au naturel), and then on to the jewelry…

I guess what I’m saying here is that I’m totally high maintenance and as laid back as I may seem about certain things – like I’m a hamburger and French fries kinda gal over a fancy four-course meal – there’s no way I would ever consider myself “easy-going.”

At best, I’m diplomatic with a dash of crazy.

So when conversations about the past come up, I have a very predictable response: at first, I’m easy going, effortless and laid back. But it doesn’t take long for the crazy to come out…

Me: “So, umm….tell me about your university days…how many serious girlfriends did you have?”

Mr. Niceguy: “Uh…I dunno. I can’t really remember.”

Me: Getting slightly hot under the collar. “What do you mean you can’t remember? Think…first year? Anyone caught your eye? Or when you were graduating? Anyone you thought you’d take the plunge with?”

Mr. Niceguy: “Why? I mean, who cares?”

Me: “Well, I’m just trying to get to know you better.” Feeble.Totally weak. “Seriously? You can’t remember?”

Mr. Niceguy: “Well, there was that girl in high school that I also dated while I was in first year. I think she became a doctor.”

Me: Interrupting – “Really? Who? That girl with the dark hair? A doctor? Was she even good looking? Did your parents meet her? Did they like her? What did your friends think? Did you think you were going to marry her? What was so great about her? Did she hang out in your dorm room?”

Mr. Niceguy: “Well, we didn’t last. And after her…well, I can’t really recall. There were some girls…but not any really serious girlfriends.”

Me: Internally screaming, WHA???!!!!!!! “Oh, that’s nice. Ya…who would want to get serious during university? I mean, sheesh, I would tell our boys not to get too serious too…”

Mr. Niceguy: “Well, there was that one girl. The ballet dancer. I met her during a school trip. I always wondered about her afterwards…”

Me: HMMMPPPFFF. Why did I start this conversation?? A ballet dancer no less… “Well, if it means that much to you, you should just look her up and see what happened.” Maybe she put on 60 pounds and drives a school bus!

So what happened right after I uttered those words while cooking side-by-side with Mr. Niceguy should come as absolutely no surprise: nothing. Silence. And a smile while continuing our efforts to get dinner on the table. Plus the realization, on my part, that perhaps next time I could extend the same kind of courtesy to Mr. Niceguy and not poke and prod him into revealing things that are perhaps better left unsaid…but then where’s the double-standard in that?

Monday: Start of week 2 on this major acquisition which is happening at lightning speed. It’s definitely the “dog days of summer” as I’m totally working like one. I’ve arrived home from work only to find that the 3 year old is burning up with a fever of 102…oh no.

Tuesday: Acquisition still full steam ahead. Fever is now at 103. Leave work early and rush home to takeover watching 3 year old from grandma…coach 7 year old’s soccer game…and sneak in an episode of Bold and the Beautiful…it’s the little things…

Thursday: Fever down to 100…progress! Sleepless night tallies 3…wrong kind of progress! Tag out of babysitting – Mr. Niceguy’s turn. Drop 7 year old at camp, race downtown, park car and walk to my desk. Oh, there it is again…like a forbidden drug…the travel shop. I always look at the window with such forlorn on my way to the office – do I go to Delhi? Sounds so exotic…I can just smell the spices. Do I take a whirlwind trip to NY or Las Vegas? Or a month jaunt to Europe: London, Paris, Florence…just $499 / $899 / $1,099…

Friday: Temperature normal! Hooray! And I got some sleep!! But the list of things to do has been piling up and I have a really full weekend ahead. Oh boy…I just need to make it to Saturday…

Saturday: 4:57 am, I hear a pitter patter in my sleep, reach out my arms from my horizontal position, twist to the right, grip the 3 year old, lift him up, twist back to the left and plonk him between Mr. Niceguy and me – all without opening my eyes. 4:58 am – did I just do that? Do I dare open my eyes? 5:08 am, I can’t take it anymore – I rush to the washroom and then rush back…sleep, why do you evade me? 5:14 am, I hear him. Thump, thump, thump…that distinctive walk…it’s the 7 year old. And before I know it, he’s standing over Mr. Niceguy. I’m in a horror movie.

7 year old: I had a bad dream. [He says without fear – almost like it was super cool]

7 year old: [Pretends he’s shooting guns – with the sound you make while clicking your tongue in your cheek] “Tch-tch” Ya. In the basement.

Me: Tornadoes don’t happen in basements.

7 year old: [Points gun at me] “Tch” – You got it!

Scammer.

After nearly an entire week of sleep deprivation and disruption, for which I maintain a healthy level of fear as well as an almost twisted sense of reverance, I feel like I’m losing my mind. As an aside, it goes without saying that thanks to the “PTSD” brought on by the early days of parenthood which were laced with unforeseen, unexplained, and unbelievable levels of sleep deprivation, I am compelled to pay homage and respect to the power of sleep. Those early days were like nothing I’d ever experienced: infinitely harder than cramming for my hardest exam or preparing for a job interview.

Getting back to it, sometimes in this house full of boys, I feel like I’m in that same sleep deprived state… trying to navigate like an alien from another planet, or better yet, winding around like a drunkard. Hyper emotional, totally unpredictable, yet somehow, fully functional.

It’s like I’ve arrived in my most elegant gown, strappy sandals, without a hair out of place, in perfect makeup and dripping with bling to a backyard BBQ complete with flip flops and finger food.

Misconstrued, misinterpreted, misunderstood.

And this was confirmed by none other than Mr. Niceguy…who in a moment of absolute, rational, logic, set me straight. Kids in bed, tidying up complete, we put our feet up and started watching a taped episode of the Bachelorette. And that’s when it happened. Another poor guy, totally smitten with the Bachelorette gets sent home…and I’m defending how she was absolutely right to send him home. How she was so gracious and kind and how her words would surely lead to a mutual respect and potential future friendship…to which Mr. Niceguy responded, gesticulating like an alien robot: “Bleep, bloop, blurp!”

Mr. Niceguy: Ya. Men are from Mars, women are from Venus. There’s really no point to him being friends with her, is there? Think about it…

And there it was…and there it is. We often make light of our differences by magnanimously referencing the book with that very same title – and incidentally neither of us have even read it. Still, it’s our way of diffusing misunderstandings, resulting differences and feelings of slight.

I don’t need to survive another crazy week to recognize that Mr. Niceguy and I have lasted as long as we have, despite roadblocks, hurdles, obstacles, bumps and sticky wickets, because somehow we have become totally aware and completely accepting of the fact that we are completely different beings. And let’s face it, because Mr. Niceguy humours me by putting up with my meltdowns, crazy mood swings, my choice in TV (the Bachelorette and the Bold and the Beautiful, to name a couple) and declarations that I am the boss of this house (which totally fall on deaf ears), to name a few.

Though we may be from different planets, what I do know for sure is that we’re both on a fantabulous ride together! Oh, and that my people add a lot of colour…and wishful thinking! And if Mr. Niceguy were to read this, once again he’d say, “Bleep, bloop, blurp!” Pffft….